In the hospital parking lot, away from his sweet wife and some of her family, my son, T, told me that I am dead to him. It cut my heart to the core. I sat in my car until my vision cleared and my nerves calmed down. Immediately after that I felt the weight lift off my shoulders, free at last. This time he clearly can’t blame me, he slammed the door closed on me.

Relief is what I felt. To be free of trying to help him, support him, be a good mother to him, cleaning up his messes and throwing money at his constant problems.

I wasn’t trying to be a good mom because it’s my nature. I was trying so hard because I knew the path that led to who he became.

His father, A, kidnapped him and my daughter, R. I searched for them for 5 years. I finally got them back when they had run away and were in protective custody. A and his wife told my children horror stories, like I hated them, would kill them, etc. A, R’s biological father was having sex with her since she was 9 yo. T had a filthy mattress on the garage floor. Nudity was forced, drugs were involved, beatings were common. A’s wife had a son who had his own room and all the luxuries, but he also suffered the abuse.

I didn’t know any of this at first and it only came out in bits and pieces over the years. I responded to their behavior at face value. I thought they had been enjoying a decent family life, far better than they would have with me, a single mom, but I was only guessing.

My daughter leveled out after she understood that she was safe and secure.

My poor son never got a break. My hair dresser, a man, got 10 yo T in a dangerous situation and propositioned him. I had the man’s arm broken, I knew people. He had to close his shop. I discovered that he had a strong affection for young boys, many young boys. I got T into therapy with a highly praised psychologist, a man in his late 40’s, named ‘Max’. He had T therapy, me and T therapy, whole family therapy. It was exhausting. Then T went into therapy residential therapy out of town. Max made many trips to see my son, known and unknown to me. No matter where T was, Max went to see him, take him out on day excursions, etc. When a program was over, Max continued to see T at our home or in his office. I had begun to see that things were odd. Max was grooming T to be a lover, convincing T that he was only safe with him. Max would not go away, so I went with litigation. Waiting to go into the judges chamber, a lady with two sons dropped a piece of paper. They were there for the same reason that I was there. Max had been grooming many boys for his pleasure. Max lost his license to practice in Florida, maybe not in other states.

So I know T’s heartbreaking history and that was my motivation for doing anything to help my child. All those years, I was called every insulting name in the book by every authority that I had to deal with. All of this was a daily nightmare to all of us individually and as a family. Yes, I was beat down as far as a mother can be beaten. I hated myself for being such a bad mother, for feeling so helpless, for failing so miserably and it shattered me to the core. I never saw when he had become the man and son that he would always be. I didn’t see that I was the target because I was the one who was present.

I know a mother who is now going through the same thing with her 17 yo son. The father is a large part of the problem, but she is the target. The son, father, authorities, everyone, is calling her the awful mother because she is the one who is trying to help her son, the parent who is present. She has given up on him. Rightfully so. He has become the man that he will be forever.

Mothers give birth to strangers, for better or for worse. Then, the demons go after the children.

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